above the russet tops of trees
beyond the watery veil and curlicues
of cloud, is room enough for our bone
trapped minds to open, swirl and dream
and we all get there in the fullness of time
as sure as knowing that love will win in the end
but while we breathe we should take a look
the wrong way down the telescope
and see that we’re sucking the breast dry
before we’ve had the chance to grow
Author: Paul Paterson
rain
such a rain
sleeting down
its misty battalions
from a grey
hammered sky
sleuthing through
defenceless streets
it’s whispering rivers
a ruin for some
a hope to others
I could not begin
to stem the tide
and fill the hidden
cracks it seeks
to expose
river
my eyes must follow
the metalled river
a mirage of ripples
troubled by a northern air
that breaks on my face
a warm breath shy of a slap
and a sister wind pricks
a memory with an offering
of the water’s sweet decay
taking me inwards
taking me backwards
but I cannot stay too long
and must move on as
this silver hushed slip surely will
devoid of her own guideance
she disolves herself with the sea
and taken up as airborne spores
to form and fall and flow again
our winter winds
we’ve heard that winter is coming
who have seen the first buds of spring
soft nubs patiently pushed towards
the promised relief of shared warmth
now hesitant and still
unsure of the strength of the sun
trammeled by winds that will come
to strip the air from a birds song
and char the blades of infant shoots
hard won through a truculent earth
a flattening crystal chill from
empty howling mouths
beasts and braggarts purging
their mishapen hearts
rishikesh, mountain stream
here the water quiets
from the chaos of birth
mother ice
sliding cold this river’s teal
quenching the half-found
cleansing the threadbare
running free with ash
and sins and a soul’s gold
to be redeemed
a silken road of
the lost and found
for our spirit’s breath
exfoliates our flaking mores
with her curative line
to a merciful sea
SS Lager Sylt
I walked over verdent green
a soft carpet
a thin covering
I felt in my hackles
voices not forgotten
pain in the silence
though a gentle wind
may have passed through
the twisted brambles
and birds fret
as they must have then
urgent in their persuit
of the life they know
you must have seen
these very same things
but the collar on your neck
would give them a more
desperate meaning
than I could know
who walks in answer
only to heart yearning steps
dune
gulls hang languid in the air
muttering their sorrows
and laments for the lost
their feathers flick as they
dip and drift in answer
to the vagaries of the wind
and marram tufts shudder
with each waft of warmth
needle threads of stitch
root meandering sand
with a sea of inward smiles
into these transient hills
as our innocent echoes spill
as sweetly tumbled weeds
down these golden banks
and up again to stand
panting proud and free
king of our beautied blithe shore
1.20.17
dark tendrils wormed in
lauded, their fetid breath drowns
rays of civil light
are you not coming home
a blue coraled night
saw me away
the catch in my throat
bagged up with my bones
in a care lined sack
I watched steel birds
cry their farewells to the
naked amber streets
of my sugar grimed
balm of a city
it’s resonant hum
my ambient song
they took this fledgling
to disappearing shores
and a stretch of sea
that was just
a pig with wings
until the wind rushed in
and pulled me away
old angus
his boat lulls
as the hooks wind in
hung with iridescent
ocean blades
little line dancers
of flailing breath
that twitch and slither
into the trough
a century of seasons
are stowed behind
his watery eyes
though he does not weep
for the sleek and flesh
he has no time
or gaps to fill
his leathered hands
a constant husband
to the sea
and here he will be
until the fish run dry
until his wispy smile
no longer persuades
the belly of cloud
to let the sun through
paulhp poetry 